


Broken

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Daegon Rings [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, D/s, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen returns to Cardiff, but isn't quite certain how to adapt to being back to his life as part of Torchwood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two sequels to [Fallen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1142060), in which Owen returns to Cardiff and Torchwood.

Sleep is elusive in his own bed, in the flat that hasn't even had time for the rent to be late. He rolls onto his stomach to look out the windows behind him, out over the city that looks alien to eyes accustomed to sprawling houses built of wood and brick, lit by the soft glow of lights that mimic torchlight without the flames, when not lit by the brilliant shine of sunlight. Not the harsh streetlamps with their orange glare reflecting off metal and glass.

The sky is just beginning to lighten with the rising sun, and he just watches, his eyes watering as he tracks the bright disc of light as it shifts from red to orange-yellow to white. He finally looks away, his eyes blurrily trying to focus on the near-empty room. He crawls out of the bed, going to the door that leads to a closet, pulling out the first clothing that comes to hand.

He almost forgets to lock the door of the flat behind him, walking the streets with his shoulders hunched against both the chill of the air and the people around him. He can imagine they all stare, disapproval and censure in their faces for abandoning the woman who'd given him everything. For what?

Ianto is already at the tourist office when Owen slips through the door, silent, heading for the entrance to the Hub. The younger man doesn't break the quiet, merely opening the door, and letting him go down on his own. At least there's one person who doesn't treat him any different than before, though maybe he should.

There is no one in the Hub as he comes through the rolling door, no sound except the trickle of water underlain with the hum of electronics. He forces himself not to bolt up the short flight of stairs toward his desk in its corner next to Jack's office.

He can feel Jack's eyes on him as he perches on his chair, and he keeps his eyes on the desk, listening to the rustle of paper as Jack works on something. He misses the hush of Aristan's home, sounds swallowed up by thick rugs and richly-shaded tapestries. The combination of traditional and modern that is centuries in the future and halfway across the galaxy, out of his reach.

A gasp pulls his attention to the main door, and the shocked expression on Gwen's face.

"Owen!" She hurries forward, and he barely can contain the urge to recoil from her, and the open joy on her face, mixed with worry and curiosity.

"Gwen." Jack's sharp tone stops her before she can try to wrap him in an embrace that Owen doesn't want, making her frown at her employer. "You have your own desk."

"I just..." She trails off at the expression on Jack's face, but it doesn't keep her silent for long. "What happened?" Gwen looks at Owen, the worry making a reappearance, and all he wants to do is return to Aristan, and the safety of thirty-ninth century Daegon. "Owen, what happened to you?"

He feels the bite of metal against his arm, and realizes he's been edging away from Gwen, and his gaze drops to the bare surface. Someone has cleaned his desk while he's been missing, and the sterile appearance bothers him more than the thought that someone handling what belonged to him before.

"Owen?"

Twice now she's addressed him, and a response is drawn from him, quickly snapped out, a faint hint of a plea in it, to stave off anger. "Nothing, Gwen." He doesn't look up past her feet, out of habit, perhaps, or maybe he's unwilling to face the emotion in her eyes.

She draws in a breath, as if about to question his answer, and footsteps come from Jack's office. Owen watches from the corner of his eye as Jack steers Gwen away, back towards her own desk, his tone firm as he tells her to leave Owen alone. He knows that she won't leave it alone for very long, but even a few days of peace is better than the misplaced sympathy he knows he'll receive from her.

* * *

Tosh is certain, when she first sees Owen, that whatever happened, he's not happy being home. Perhaps she's gotten better at reading body language, perhaps that pendent of Mary's has some lingering effects that she hasn't noticed before, but it really doesn't matter which. Owen looks uncomfortable at his desk, almost lost, though when he notices someone watching him, his expression closes off, and there's nothing there to read.

She's equally certain that Gwen needs to rein in her curiosity, and when there's a Weevil to chase, she drags the other woman with her along with a stun gun, and tells Jack they'll handle it. She doesn't know how well they'll do, but right now, Owen's in no shape to join them, and she doesn't feel good about the idea of leaving him alone, or with just Ianto - or just Jack - for company.

"Don't you care what happened to Owen?" Gwen is observant when she tries to be, and Tosh doesn't look up from her laptop.

"Of course I care. But I'm not going to ask until he's ready to tell us. Turn right up here, we're nearly caught up with it." She ostensibly focuses on the tracking, and the CCTV footage, keeping an eye on the Weevil as Gwen drives. Privately, she thinks it's unlikely that Owen will talk to them about what happened. Not any time soon, at least. Maybe once he's had time to distance himself from it, but even then she has her doubts.

"He won't look at me." Gwen isn't going to let the subject go, but at least she's not making faces at Owen across the Hub. "Or anyone else, really."

"I hadn't noticed. Grab the Weevil spray. It turned down an alley up here, dead-end." Tosh closes her laptop with a click, grabbing her own container of the spray. A few minutes of peace, at least, until they're on the way back to the Hub. She hopes that Owen is a little more settled when they get back.

* * *

Even when Tosh and Gwen leave, he can't relax, and he glances behind him towards the autopsy room. No, not there. The memory of hiding there from the Cyberman with Gwen, no. It isn't a choice he has to make; he already knows that he can't return to what they had. Even if she wants to, he can't. She _needs_ too much, and he doesn't know what he has to give. Doesn't think he has anything to give to her.

Jack is still watching him from his office, and Owen hesitates a moment before moving from his desk, the computers that are slow and almost clumsy compared to those he's used to. He doesn't speak, just settles on the floor next to Jack's chair, glancing up for permission before leaning against the desk. A small measure of the peace he's lost settles around him, letting him relax just a fraction.

"Did Aristan let you keep in practice with any guns at all?" Jack's question makes him tense, and Owen opens his eyes, only just aware he's closed them, looking up to see the other man focused on the paperwork on his desk.

"No. She doesn't like guns. Too impersonal, and too messy." Owen shrugs, and looks down again, his gaze on Jack's feet. "I didn't need one, either. Her security keeps people out of the house, and I didn't go out alone."

"Then you'll need to refresh your knowledge." Now he can feel Jack's gaze on him again, and he looks up, trying to search for something in his face; what, he can't quite decide. A command, perhaps, a clue as to what Jack wants him to do. Something to anchor him.

"When?" Jack's asking him to tell him when he wants to do this, to relearn what he's forgotten in the year - more? - he's been on Daegon, where he hasn't needed a gun. Hasn't needed to defend himself, hasn't had to run to escape danger, or run into danger.

"Whenever." Owen shrugs. He doesn't have anything to do, nothing to look forward to that can occupy his nights, make him forget what he's done, the choice he's made to leave the safety he'd found.

Jack shakes his head. "I'm not telling you when, Owen."

Owen looks away, his shoulders hunching forward slightly. "It doesn't matter. All I have now is this. Torchwood. I don't even know why I left her. I don't know how to live here anymore, but I'm here anyway." He shudders, his jaw clenching. "I shouldn't have left."

"You made a choice, Owen. Everyone has choices to make, and you have to deal with the consequences. I can't tell you what to do, or how to live, because that's not my decision." Jack's voice isn't gentle, but there isn't any censure or scold in it, and Owen can't quite understand why.

* * *

He knows he shouldn't come back here, but he does. He stands in the gallery that rings the council floor, watching through the intricately carved screens as she faces her rivals, the inner fire he's always seen her cherish burning brightly in her eyes. Dangerous and unstoppable as an avalanche, and he shivers, glad he's safely here, and not the target of her current anger.

The pale robes she is wearing, loose and billowing, add to the image in his mind, and he frowns, wondering what would have her wearing robes of mourning. An inquiry to the local information network yields nothing, and he knows better than to tap her home systems from here.

A quick jump in the TARDIS, and he's waiting in her garden when she comes home, admiring the new trellis and its climbing roses. Flowers from Earth, some of the few that transplanted well to Daegon without being deemed too dangerous to the native flora.

"You should have come back sooner if you wanted to ask me to travel with you once more." Aristan still wears the pale robes he'd seen her in at the council house, and her expression is hollow, empty of that passion that she'd shown earlier.

"I thought you said you'd never leave Daegon. Well, unless you were asked to represent it off-world somewhere, which isn't what I'd be asking." He cuts himself short, though there's more there, babble, waiting to get out. She's not one to appreciate it, though.

"Everyone has a breaking point, Doctor." She turns away, down one of the rambling paths. "If you catch someone there, you can change their lives. Draw them down a path they wouldn't otherwise take." She shrugs, not waiting for him to catch up, only expecting him to follow.

"Maybe." The Doctor frowns, wondering where she is going. "And sometimes it's just not a path they considered taking because they never had that option open at the right moment before."

"As you like it." Aristan doesn't give him any more than that, doesn't concede the point. "In the end, does it matter which it is, if the person abandons their new path for one more familiar?"

"You could have told us just to leave. Kept Owen here, if you wanted to." The Doctor knows that should get a reaction, but he's not expecting the one that comes. Cool sarcasm, or perhaps just a whip-crack of temper-fueled denial. Not this.

He's still reeling in surprise when he realizes he's back in the TARDIS, and the door is slamming shut behind a cloud of what he thinks for a moment is ice and snow. The thought that Jackie Tyler would get along with Aristan very well crosses his mind before he shakes his head, trying to sort out the whirlwind of seconds between his carefully-chosen barb and now.

The snapping fury in Aristan's eyes as she spins, grabbing his arm in a grip that he thinks he can still find imprinted in his suit, on his skin. The barest hint of a tremble to her voice that vanishes beneath ice and steel as she regains that ounce of lost control. The words that are burned into his memory now.

"I trust those I take care of to chose their time to leave. You're the only one I've had to shove out the door, and you still, for all that you are a Time Lord, have no sense of proper times for everything. Partings included."

He reaches for the controls, leaving Daegon, and Aristan's garden for the safety of the void. Perhaps he ought to wait a bit longer before trying to talk to her again.

* * *

Owen doesn't want to leave the Hub that night, doesn't want to return to the emptiness of his flat, and the alien feeling of his sheets, his bed. He wonders how long it will be before Jack tells him to leave, as he settles onto the couch, listening to the sounds of the Hub. Here, it's not quite so alien as the place he's supposed to call home, and that frightens him a bit.

"Eventually, you have to go home." It's not Jack who says that, and Owen turns his head to look. Ianto is watching him, a cup of coffee steaming in his hand. With only the lights of the computers, he looks sinister, dangerous.

"I can't sleep at my flat." He shrugs, his gaze dropping from Ianto's to the coffee cup, the hands that hold it. Carefully cared for, meticulously groomed as the rest of him. Long-boned fingers that he wagers have calluses on the tips to match the faint ink-stains on the first ones of the right hand. Strong, different enough from those imprinted on his memory. "'S not home anymore."

Ianto uncurls his fingers from the coffee mug a moment, and Owen looks away, catching sight of Jack in his office, watching them through the window. His expression holds nothing for Owen to reach out toward, just leaves him floundering in a stormy sea that he's forgotten how to navigate.

"So make it home." Ianto's calm, measured tone anchors him for a moment, and Owen returns his gaze to the other man's hands. "Find what makes it feel like home, and redecorate."

"Yes, sir." The response is almost automatic, the hint of a stumble over the honorific only drawing attention to it. Owen watches Ianto's fingers tighten around the cup, and relax slowly, fractionally, with fascination.

"Are you certain you want to go down that path, Owen?" Ianto's voice drops, the tone as dangerous as he looks in the dim lighting.

Owen shivers, tempted to give over the measure of control he's been given back, coming to Cardiff once more. He can't, though. It's not the same here, not as safe. Ianto's not as safe. Yet, there's some part of him that asks if he wants safe, or if he wants the peace and the sense of living when he skates close to the edge.

"I can't." He forces himself to meet Ianto's dark gaze. "It's not the same."

He can imagine there's a faint smirk on Ianto's face, though the expression he's watching never changes, and the sense that there's danger beneath that bland facade grows.

"Your choice, Owen." He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee without taking his eyes off the other man. "I'll leave you to sleep, then. Goodnight, Owen." He looks over at Jack's office, projecting slightly so he's audible through the open door. "Goodnight, sir."

Owen watches as Ianto turns, the grey suit fading into the shadows of the Hub for a moment before the door opens, silhouetting him for a moment against the light from the outside hall before he steps through.

He looks back to Jack's office, but Jack is gone, the light as his desk turned off. Owen is alone in the Hub, and suddenly it doesn't feel as comforting and safe as it did before. He shivers, sitting up and leaning his elbows on his knees. He hears a rustle in the dark, and jumps before memory surfaces, and he curses. He doesn't know if he really ought to count a dinosaur as company, but he does nonetheless.

Laying back down, he curls on his side, pillowing his head on the arm-rest. Just him and Mfanwy, and the Hub is more home than his flat.

* * *

Tosh sets her purse on her desk as quietly as she can, carefully not looking over at Owen sleeping on the couch. There are days when she wishes she hadn't destroyed Mary's pendent, and those are the days she's most glad she has. Like now, when she's wondering why Owen's sleeping at the Hub, looking like a lost little boy curled up on the couch.

She's not the first one here, she's never the first one here. Even if she ignores the fact that Jack sleeps here, Ianto is usually in before she is - she can invariably find a cup of coffee all but materializing on her desk before she's even sorted for the day. Coffee, and a pastery from the local bakery, and chocolate on days when she needs it most.

Movement at the edge of her vision draws her attention as she's savoring the chocolate scone, and she looks over just in time to see Owen startle, and tumble off the couch with a yelp. She's out of her chair and two steps across the floor before she sees the flinch, and she stops dead, staring as Owen picks himself off the floor.

"Would you like another scone, Tosh?"

Ianto's voice breaks through her shock, and she turns, giving him a small smile that's as false as the bland expression he habitually wears. She wonders if any of them ever are able to drop the masks entirely, and if maybe that's part of Owen's problem. Resuming a mask he hasn't had to wear for.. however long he's been away.

"No, thank you, Ianto. I'm fine." She looks over at Owen, and hesitates, wondering if she should make sure he's all right. "I just..." She shrugs, and turns back to her desk. There's nothing she can do if he doesn't allow it, and after that flinch, she doesn't think Owen will let her help him. "I'm fine."

She can feel Owen's eyes on her for a moment, but when she looks over at his desk, he's already focusing on the screen nearest to him. He looks lost, still, and she doubts that will fade soon, but he's not hunching in on himself as much as he was when he stepped out of the Doctor's ship two days ago, almost slinking out behind Jack.

It doesn't last long, only until Gwen arrives, and then he's trying to hide once more, avoiding Gwen the best he can. Tosh doesn't try to interfere this time, just watches Owen as he reacts to his ex... Tosh considers that a moment, and shrugs. Ex-fuckbuddy, then.

He doesn't speak to her unless she demands a reply, or asks a question, and then only the briefest of answers. Not enough to satisfy her curiosity, and Tosh sees him relax fractionally when Ianto asks Gwen to straighten up a file she's supposed to have ready for the archive, and isn't up to his standards.

When the question goes around about lunch, Tosh looks over at Owen, and asks him what he wants to eat. It's when he blinks, and hesitates that she wonders again what happened to him while he was gone.

He finally shrugs. "Whatever sounds good, Tosh. I've forgotten what food on Earth tastes like." It's the first clue about where he's been, and she wonders about the culture, and the people. If he hasn't been on Earth, has he even been among humans all this time?

"You ordered pizza all the time before." Tosh leaves the sentence hanging, and Owen just shrugs again.

"Pizza, then." Owen pauses, looking down at his desk, a small furrow appearing between his brows. "Light sauce, no toppings other than the cheese."

* * *

It's late, and the Hub is quiet once more. Owen looks back as he steps through the door, his steps towards the lift slow. The memory of leaving when Jack fired him crosses his mind, and the emotions that ran through him then aren't entirely different from now. He doesn't really want to leave the Hub, though this time he knows he can come back. Though he's less angry this time, and more frightened.

He hesitates before jabbing the button to take him up to the hallway and the tourist office, and shakes himself, trying to force the fear into a box. It doesn't leave, but he thinks he's dispelled some of it as he steps out into the salt-scented air.

Lifting his head, he looks across the water, the lights of Cardiff reflected in the black water, the sky equally as inky black. He shivers, feeling small and disconnected from the universe. He remembers looking up from the garden when Aristan took him outside after the sun had set one night, pointing out constellations she'd grown up with. Stars strewn across the sky, brighter than diamonds on black velvet, not washed out by the lights used to make the streets safe to travel at night.

He shakes his head, looking back to the street, and starting to walk towards his flat. Perhaps in the morning he can look for something to create an echo of that brilliant night sky on the ceiling of his flat. A step towards making it home, taking control over his life. He draws in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh.

* * *

She's still in the colors of mourning, and she knows those around her wonder why she still wears the pale shades that do her coloring no justice. No one dares to ask her directly, not even her family. Aristan isn't even sure she can explain it now, or if she wants to try. It's become habit, and one she's loathe to give up.

It's the Doctor who finally finds the reason why, and challenges her decision all in one breath, and she's surprised by the welling of fury she feels. It's a warning sign that she's lost touch with herself, and it shakes her to the bone. This isn't what she is, isn't what she's meant to be.

It takes only a few weeks to make arrangements for her to be away. She has no doubts her city will welcome her return when she's ready, and doesn't feel too concerned about leaving them to her cousin in her absence. That, perhaps, should worry her more than it does.

The journey isn't long, and she doesn't bother to hire ground transport once she arrives at her destination, in a system she's studied, but never visited. The cradle of the human race, this planet, and she hitches the small bag she carries higher on her shoulder as she walks out of the terminal.

Looking down at the direction sent to her years ago, with the note that she'd know when she needed to use it, she sets out towards the water, leaving the bustle of a modern port-of-call behind as she wanders through the historical sector, towards a silvery tower that dominates the water-line of this part of the city.

At the base of the tower, she pauses, looking up at it, wondering where to go from here. The direction gives her no more instructions than to come to the water tower in historical Cardiff, on Earth.

A rumble beneath her feet is the only warning she has before the paving stone she is standing on begins to sink beneath the street, into a cavern where she sees a face that is painfully familiar. She draws herself up proudly, because there's nothing else she can do now, exposed on the lift. There are no regrets for the months she had Owen in her house, none of the pain of hitting ground when he chose to leave.

"Welcome to Torchwood, Aristan." Jack waits until the lift is at the bottom to greet her, his hands in the pockets of the trousers he wears. He's almost exactly the same as she remembers, with a hint more of years lived, _centuries_ lived, in his eyes.

"Why here?" She steps off the lift, but doesn't come any closer to him. Trusting him isn't something that can be easy, and she wonders that she never thought about who might have sent that note. She's always careful about the risks she's willing to take, and now... she knows she walked into this knowing nothing but that she needed a change.

"Owen worked for Torchwood for fourteen years after he came back." Jack turns, nodding his head towards a work-station on a balcony. "Longer than anyone else."

"He died doing his job." Aristan doesn't move yet, looking up at the desk and computer screens. She can see a ghost in her mind's eye, Owen looking up to smile, that small gesture that was reassurance that he's happy.

"We all do." Jack's tone is casual, underlain with a weariness that Aristan can understand, but not truly comprehend.

"Some more than others." Aristan takes the first step, crossing the footbridge over the empty space at the base of the tower with steps that she can hear echoing off the walls. Her hand rests lightly on the rail of the stairs, and she stops before she steps onto the balcony, looking over the space that felt preserved in time.

Jack is still where he stood when she arrived, giving her room to step into the world he's preserved for her to see.

"Was he happy, Jack?" She looks over her shoulder at him, pretending her eyes aren't bright with tears she won't shed.

"Not at first." Jack doesn't lie to her, holding her gaze as he continues. "By the time he found he was just a bit too slow, I think he was."

Aristan nods, and takes the final step onto the balcony, her fingers trailing over the desk, the pictures that stare back at her of a face she's not forgotten. There are few smiles, but she expects them to be rare. "Anyone in his life?"

"No one permanent."

She laughs, the sound brittle, one finger touching a picture, tracing the line of Owen's jaw. "He never found someone who could hold him." She receives no response, expects none. "Wasn't ready to leave. I wasn't ready for him to leave."

"You couldn't take away that choice from him. It wasn't your life."

Aristan glares at Jack darkly. "Do not scold me, Jack Harkness, for what I am not. You know less than you think of me."

"Probably." Jack shrugs, walking closer, standing at the bottom of the stairs to look up at her. "Owen said you gave him more than he ever took the time to appreciate."

Aristan looks away, her fingers still against the smooth surface of the desk. "I gave him what he needed, nothing more."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 17 November 2007 on LiveJournal.


End file.
